The temporal scar pulsed with unusual resonance as Zǔ Zhòu descended into its chamber for the evening's cultivation session. Three weeks had passed since he'd begun demonstrating his "deviation insights" to Elder Feng, establishing himself as a temporal theory prodigy.
"Young Master," his anchor servant reported, "the southeastern wall shows new fractures. The scar's influence appears to be expanding."
Interesting. He approached the indicated section, where hairline cracks spider-webbed across ancient stone. The temporal distortion had grown stronger, reality wearing thin like fabric stretched too far.
"The increased extraction is destabilizing the containment," he mused, pressing his palm against the fractured stone. "Or perhaps..."
The wall crumbled at his touch, revealing a passage that reeked of preserved death. Not a natural expansion—this was deliberate architecture hidden behind a facade.
"Gather the portable formations," he ordered. "And bring test subjects three and seven. We may need expendable scouts."
The passage led deeper than the original chamber, walls transitioning from rough stone to worked obsidian. Carved symbols lined the corridor—demonic script interwoven with temporal calculations. Someone had built this with purpose, understanding the scar's nature well enough to use it for preservation.
"Send subject three ahead," Zǔ Zhòu commanded.
The servant stumbled forward, terror and compliance warring in his eyes. Twenty steps in, nothing. Thirty steps, the man began aging rapidly on his left side while his right remained unchanged. At forty steps, he collapsed, body unable to reconcile the temporal differential.
"Fascinating. The builders created temporal gradient traps." Zǔ Zhòu studied the corpse, noting how the aging followed specific patterns. "But crude ones. Step only where the obsidian shows this particular weathering pattern."
They navigated carefully, following the safe path revealed by the servant's death. The passage opened into a vast chamber—not just a room but a complex of interconnected spaces. Shelves lined walls, collapsed furniture suggested a library, and meditation platforms centered around subsidiary temporal distortions.
"A research facility," he breathed. "They didn't just discover the scar—they built their entire sect around studying it."
The first room held desiccated corpses in meditation positions, their final moments preserved by temporal loops. Each body showed different stages of transformation—failed attempts to integrate paradox energy directly. Their flesh had crystallized, bones warped into impossible angles, souls half-escaped from bodies that couldn't decide which moment they existed in.
"Amateur methodology," Zǔ Zhòu noted, examining one corpse whose skeleton had partially phased through itself. "Direct absorption without filtration. They lacked my servant battery concept."
The second room contained preserved specimens—creatures caught in temporal flux, some aging and dying in endless loops, others frozen mid-transformation. A demonic beast's core hung suspended in a bubble of reversed time, exploding and reforming every three seconds.
"Test materials," his servant observed.
"More than that. Teaching aids." Zǔ Zhòu gestured to the meticulous notes beside each specimen. "They documented every failure, building understanding through systematic destruction. Admirable dedication to empirical study."
He paused at one cage containing what might have once been human. The thing inside existed in seventeen different temporal states simultaneously, its screams echoing from past and future alike.
"Still alive after a thousand years," he mused. "Exquisite suffering. They understood that knowledge demands sacrifice—preferably someone else's."
The third room held the true treasures. Sealed containers lined specially constructed shelves, each positioned at precise distances from temporal distortion nodes. The preservation wasn't perfect—several containers had failed, their contents aged to dust or twisted into paradox—but enough remained intact.
The first container held pills that flickered between states. "Temporal Flux Pills," he read from the faded label. "Accelerate cultivation by experiencing multiple timelines. Side effects: probable madness, certain soul fracture, possible existence failure."
He pocketed several. Perfect for test subjects.
The second contained cultivation resources frozen at the moment of peak potency. Spirit stones that had absorbed a millennium of temporal energy, herbs that aged and renewed in endless cycles, beast cores from creatures that had learned to hunt across timelines.
But the third container held what he'd been hoping for.
"Hello, beautiful," Zǔ Zhòu whispered, lifting out a manual bound in what appeared to be solidified screams.
The Temporal Demon Transformation Scripture radiated wrongness that made reality hiccup. Even his anchor servant, temporally fractured as he was, stepped back instinctively. The binding writhed under his touch, screams trying to escape their crystallized prison.
"Bound in the death cries of temporal victims," he identified, admiring the craftsmanship. "Each scream caught at the moment time abandoned them. Exquisite work."
He opened the manual carefully, pages of treated human skin inscribed with blood-based ink. The text shifted as he read, words existing in multiple temporal states until observed. His vast knowledge let him parse the paradoxes easily, but he maintained an expression of struggled comprehension.
"They didn't just discover the scar," he realized, reading deeper. "They reverse-engineered it. Created an entire cultivation system based on temporal paradox."
The manual detailed a complete path from Body Tempering through Core Formation, each technique incorporating temporal distortion. Primitive compared to his knowledge, but cleverly adapted to this reality's laws. He tested one of the basic techniques—Paradox Breathing—and felt his comprehension lock react.
The technique shouldn't work at Body Tempering. But because it was written by those who didn't know that, reality accommodated the impossibility. A loophole created by ignorance and preserved by paradox.
"Magnificent ignorance," he murmured, attempting the technique properly. His breathing split across three temporal streams—past, present, and future inhalations occurring simultaneously. The effect was minor but real, tripling his qi absorption for the space of a heartbeat.
"Your deviation insights align perfectly with this," his servant noted.
"By design. Past me created the wounds. Ancient cultivators found them and created techniques. Now present me 'discovers' their work." He laughed, the sound making stored specimens writhe. "I'm teaching myself across millennia without trying."
The manual's final section contained detailed maps—not just physical locations but temporal coordinates. Each of his scars marked with precise notes, expedition records, success and failure rates. The sect had found seventeen of the regional scars before their destruction.
"The Whispering Cave: 'Echoes speak future-past truths. Third expedition returned mad but enlightened. Optimal cultivation during lunar eclipse when temporal barriers weaken.'"
"The Bent Tree: 'Growth without time, death without ending. Xu Wei achieved breakthrough after grafting himself to root system. His screams still echo on windless nights.'"
"Merchant's Folly: 'Gold becomes lead, lead becomes souls. Entire trade caravan discovered crystallized in temporal amber. Their goods age backwards—useful for resource generation.'"
He memorized every detail while appearing to struggle with basic comprehension. These notes would accelerate his pilgrimage considerably.
"Bring subject seven," he commanded suddenly.
The woman was dragged forward, one of the servants who'd survived previous experiments. Her eyes held the particular glaze of those who'd seen too much impossibility.
"Congratulations," he told her. "You're going to help me test something."
He forced her hands onto the manual's binding. The crystallized screams reacted instantly, recognizing kindred suffering. The woman shrieked as the manual began absorbing her anguish, adding her voice to its choir.
"The binding feeds on temporal suffering," he noted clinically. "Each reader contributes to its power. A cultivation manual that grows stronger through use—brilliant design."
He pulled her away before permanent integration. She collapsed, whimpering, aged a decade in seconds but still alive. Useful data about the manual's properties.
The remaining rooms held more resources—formation diagrams for temporal manipulation, preserved lectures in crystal form, even a partial map to the sect's main headquarters. But Zǔ Zhòu had found his prize. Time to prepare for the performance.
Back in the main chamber, he arranged his evidence carefully. The manual as centerpiece, supported by select pills and resources. Enough proof of genuine discovery without seeming too convenient.
"Now we rehearse," he announced.
His anchor servant played Elder Feng while Zǔ Zhòu practiced his presentation. First attempt: too knowledgeable. Second: too ignorant. The balance lay in showing brilliant intuition struggling with complex concepts.
"Elder Feng, I found something in the old chambers," he tried again, injecting the perfect mix of excitement and trepidation. "It... it explains everything. My deviation, the temporal insights. Look—"
He practiced dropping the manual with shaking hands, pages falling open to reveal impossible knowledge. The gasp of recognition. The desperate hope that this might provide answers.
"Your hands shake too much," his servant critiqued. "Elder Feng would suspect drugs or possession."
"Valid." He adjusted, making the tremor subtle. Fear of power rather than physical weakness. "Better?"
They ran through variations for an hour. How to reveal the map without seeming to understand its full implications. Ways to demonstrate basic techniques while hiding true comprehension. The perfect balance of genius and ignorance.
"The critical moment comes when I attempt Paradox Breathing," he decided. "Success proves the manual's validity. But struggling success—gasping, nearly failing, then breakthrough through 'determination.'"
He practiced the technique repeatedly, each time adding different flaws. Too much temporal split caused nosebleeds—dramatic but concerning. Too little made it seem fake. The sweet spot involved genuine difficulty maintaining three timestreams while appearing to barely grasp two.
"Tomorrow changes everything," he said finally, satisfied with the rehearsal. "Liu Wei discovers his destiny. The family gains ancient power. And I obtain perfect cover for impossible advancement."
"The observers seem eager for the reveal," his servant noted.
"As they should be. We've built to this for chapters." He smiled at the watching void. "The deviation created sensitivity. The insights proved potential. Now the manual provides method. A complete narrative arc wrapped in believable coincidence."
That night, he returned to his chambers to make final preparations. The manual rested on his desk, its screaming binding muffled by protective cloth. Tomorrow, it would sing its temporal song to Elder Feng and begin transforming the Liu family's understanding of cultivation.
But tonight, Zǔ Zhòu studied it truly, parsing every technique through the lens of fifty thousand years' experience. The sect had been clever—more clever than they knew. Several techniques contained accidental innovations, paradox creating possibilities that shouldn't exist.
"Even primitive understanding of my scars breeds innovation," he mused. "What wonders will I create with perfect comprehension?"
The manual pulsed, feeding on his proximity to temporal power. Soon, it would have an entire family to feast upon. Each Liu who studied it would contribute suffering to its binding, strengthening the very thing that would destroy them.
"Tomorrow, Liu Wei finds his destiny," he repeated, knowing the watchers appreciated dramatic callbacks. "Today, Zǔ Zhòu laughs at the cosmic joke of it all."
The scripture waited, patient as time itself.
The performance would be perfect.